Morpheus Rising
by the-unseen-all-seeing-eye
Summary: Set in the time period of the Old Republic, a Sith Lord, hidden in the shadows for as long as the Empire itself, has emerged, under the guise of an ally, in order to unleash his twisted plan upon both the Republic and the Empire. An ongoing TOR series.OC.
1. Prologue

A Sith Lord, hidden in the shadows for as long as the Empire itself, has emerged, under the guise of an ally, in order to unleash his twisted plan upon both the Republic and the Empire. He amasses his forces, and begins preparations. But it is going to be anything but easy...

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><p><strong>Morpheus Rising<strong>

The Nikto's lips trembled as it wept silently in fear. Its eyes were filled with terror as it beheld the sight of the demon covered in the skin of a man, the thing with the crimson blade. He tried to move, but his arms would not respond, pinned as they were to the floor with the long knives the Sith had sunk into him. The Sith leaned over, bringing his chalk-white face into focus, framed by long, greasy black locks, and graced by a strange smile, almost as if it were looking at something that was mildly cute. With that demonic, yet striking smile, the man forced open the Nikto's mouth and inserted something large and spherical, which emitted a strange mechanical whirring and beeping.

"Say hello to the Force for me when you get there." The Sith got up and held before the Nikto's face a small mechanical device with a metal button in the centre, surrounded by various dials and switches.

_A detonator! He's put a grenade in my mouth!_

"Ta-tah." The man's smile turned to a grin of such horrific malice that the Nikto screwed his eyes shut. That face would be the last he ever saw.

Darth Morden turned and stalked away, and when he reached the door, he slammed it with a force that did not match the calm he emanated. Once on the other side of the massive stone door, he counted to ten, his thumb on the detonator. Even as he compressed the button, a deafening explosion came from the other room, and a grim smile played across Morden's face as he revelled in the knowledge that one more enemy lived no longer.

Morden tossed the detonator to the ground, retaining a fierce glare on his followers.

"Let's get on with this." His voice was smooth and silky, like a freshly sharpened knife ready to slip into a man's mind and then, with a single twist, pry out its secrets. "Dav, Borik, get to work. Be back here with your loot in ten, and kill anyone you see; no witnesses. And if you see _him_, comm me. Preferably do it _before_ he guts you." The two Bounty Hunters scurried off down the corridor and down the corner to the left, while the other six took their stations around the complex.

In the near reaches of the Outer Rim, in the Onderon System, there lies a planet vital to the security of the Republic, under the co-ordinates 0-281-329, whose moon plays host to the last Mandalorian Stronghold in Known Space, called Dxun. Morden's interest had been piqued when tales of an old Sith Tomb had been constructed, whose occupant had been rumoured to be one of the ancient Masters. No doubt it had been looted many times, but he was not interested in material possession, rather the wellsprings of the dark side that could be found here. One of the other Sith Lords in his entourage had gone in first, but had not emerged again, so Morden had taken the matter into his own hands, bringing with him a group of the finest Bounty Hunters this side of the Corellian Trade Route. He was beginning to wish he had just gone on his own. Ever since that Jedi had showed up on the Planet, nothing had gone right; Morden, in his fits of rage, had killed two of his best hired hands by the time the sun had set on the first day. So now, at the heart of this fountain of the Dark Side, he would call the Jedi and end this. The Jedi could not endure any longer; he had to die. _Now._

And Morden was going to kill him. _Now._

At the moment, Morden was stripped to the waist, due to the extreme heat of the Jungle Moon, and his long-handled lightsaber was clutched lightly, but firmly in his right hand, while his left held what the 'mortals' referred to as a blaster. He did not bother with the affairs of mortal men, but the human had always taken a fond liking to what had been called the blaster, even though he had been brought up to be above such petty objects.

In the dim light of the now-empty Tomb, he appeared as no more than a phantom, a faceless demon with a lust for blood, and more. The black stone walls were washed with red light, and the high vaulted ceiling magnified his footsteps a hundredfold until it sounded as if the eerie halls were playing host to an army, rather than a single man, though the lights cast shadows like those of marching legions. He could feel the birds outside fleeing in terror as they heard the approach of what seemed to be a battalion of armoured soldiers, coming to their doorstep from within the halls in which they had once flown, and built their pathetic nests, and peopled further their race to abuse the ears of those unfortunate enough to walk the face of the planet with their calls. The instant Morden walked out of the temple, he was assailed by the heat of the jungle. It was disgusting, and smelled of the rotting meat of the prey of the hunters that he could see scattered around the encircled field outside. He wanted nothing more than to burn the planet to ashes, and he made a mental note to do so at the soonest opportunity.

But first, he had to call his adversary; a large enough show should arouse his attention.

At the top of the long flight of stairs he knelt, then, with his knuckles supporting him, resting on the cold stone floor, he turned his mind inward. Instantly, he was met with a swirling ocean of darkness, as if someone had filled his soul with water, and then dumped a full bottle of ink into it. It was this blackness he loved most about himself, the very reason for his continuous survival, the reason he needed to live longer. The reason he had come to Dxun in the first place. A psychiatrist would have a field day searching through his brain. He opened that twisted mind to the dark side of the Force, and in a single fraction of a second, a magnificent barrage of Sith Lightning flowed out of him, crackling and burning anything it touched. Trees burned, plants exploded from the heat building up inside them, and animals were barbecued, their pain and suffering fuelling the Sith's power.

This was bliss. Destruction was his power, and power was his pleasure. He was full of joy as he destroyed. He let the dark side flow through him like a current in an ocean, and he let it destroy anything it touched. He let it do anything it pleased; he let it consume him.

And then he felt the presence of the Jedi. It was like a disgusting, jarring glare of light in the Power that was the Darkness. Whenever the darkness had taken hold, the coming of light was always a thing of unpleasant, painful experience, and Morden instantly felt an irresistible urge to tear it apart, seal its source, and stomp on it for good measure. In less than a second, his lightsaber was ignited and its red blade hummed with energy just waiting to pry apart its targets. There was a loud _blast-hiss!_ of a blade from the edge of the tree-line a little ways off, and when Morden looked up, his fists smoking where the lightning had burned off his leather gloves, he laid eyes on his foe for the first time.

Hael Quendin was a massive, hulking Iridonian Zabrak, a long grey Jedi robe covering his muscular form and a sapphire-blue blade illuminating his rugged face. His expression was one of tempered disdain, the corners of his mouth curled in a mild sneer. Morden did not need to speak to him to know his intent, and it worked the other way, too. The Sith's calculating gaze glanced over the Jedi, searching for any apparent weaknesses, but none could be found; this was a Jedi fresh from the training ring, at the top of his game, and with bloodlust written in his eyes. The only option was to test him for any gaps in his defenses through actual combat.

_Such a base mode of communication. A pity._

Holstering his blaster, Morden saluted with his lightsaber and glided down the stairs to the ground, closing the distance between him and the Jedi, while his opponent did the same. Morden's breath was measured, one cycle every thirty seconds, and his heart rate was as it would have been had he been lounging in his quarters the entire day. He had been through too many battles that could have gone ill to subscribe to the concept of anxiety. The Sith Assassin had trained extensively at all kinds of trickery to turn the emotion against his opponent rather than himself. They were small details; a certain change in the way he walked, a slight stooping posture from a precise vertebra in his back; they were simple, yet imposing details that he had witnessed frighten people into surrendering. Of course, it might have been the fact that most people in the Galaxy know to yield to a Sith Lord that had so strongly bashed some sense into their thick skulls.

Never breaking out of the casual stroll toward his adversary, Morden shifted his grip to the Shien style, holding his blade backhanded, parallel to his arm. They halted barely a meter from each other, eased breathing the only sound in the place; the birds had suddenly all stopped their music.

"Hello," the Jedi said, his gruff, yet amiable tone an alien concept to the Sith. "Nice day, don't you think?"

"Indeed. Though rain will inevitably come; this planet has yet to understand the concept of a dry season." Morden decided to play the Jedi's game and see how it would end.

"I hear you. Had a pleasant trip here?"

"Well enough. It was a long ride, though. This planet isn't exactly what you'd call close to civilization."

"I suppose it all depends on what you choose to do with all the dull hours. I rather like reading books during hyperspace rides. Calms the nerves, you know."

_So he's got a problem with nerves. Overly sensitive, perhaps?_

"Meditation tends to claim my free time." This was getting boring. "Can we just fight now?"

"Sounds good."

_This is pointless._

They each backed up a few paces, and leaned into their preferred opening stances. Morden's casual Shien stance allowed him freedom to move in any direction instantaneously if he so needed, which was why he had chosen to master that form in the first place. The Jedi's Niman grip, however, was anything but casual; every one of his muscles were tensed, and his face was set in a grimace of anxiety that bespoke of a great inner unconfidence that Morden knew he could exploit if necessary. In the few moments before their blades crossed, they examined each other, searching for anything they could use to their advantage, but from the growing expression of frustration on the Jedi's face, Morden could tell that he could not find anything. That gave the Sith a sort of fuzzy feeling of pride. Finally, the Jedi attacked first.

Morden let loose a short, piercing laugh of excitement, and charged to meet him head-on. He swung his lightsaber upwards, in an upper-cut, but at that precise moment, the Jedi changed forms into something that resembled Soresu, and in a graceful sweep, knocked Morden's blade aside and, spinning in closer, made an admirable attempt to cleave a section of his head off with a diagonal swipe downwards. The Sith silently berated himself for falling into such a trap, and ducked out of the strike's range, before pushing off the ground in a soaring leap that carried him high above the treetops until, at the apex of his flight, he curled into a somersault and let himself fall for a few moments before unleashing his next move. Extending his arms out to either side, he called upon the dark side again, and felt the satisfying feeling of the tendrils of his consciousness extending out in black waves that formed a sphere centred around him that kept him suspended in the air before, clenching his hands and drawing them toward himself, he swung them outward again, causing the sphere to expand at such a speed as to catch the Jedi completely unawares and send him careening into the side of the Tomb, using the Force at the last minute to cushion his impact. Morden then let loose another wave of Sith Lightning, which kept him in the air longer, forming a massive storm which he directed toward his prey, and it carried him with it, gliding a hundred feet above the ground over to exactly above the Jedi's head. The crackling energy seared the stones of the temple and illuminated the ground with lancing blue streaks. The Jedi was caught in the exact centre, and as he convulsed in the agonizing waves of lightning, Morden saw the stereotypical outline of his skeleton, which was illuminated as if it had been coated in superconductive metal and then had skin pulled over it.

But to kill him now, so soon, would be so terribly anti-climactic, he would not have been able to live with himself afterwards. He ceased the barrage and plummeted down to the ground before landing unnaturally lightly on his feet. Hael recovered remarkably quickly, and he jumped straight into the air, sailing over Morden's head. Blue lightsaber swinging violently- Morden was surprised it had survived the electrical overload- he made an intricate downward-spiralling cut followed by a counter-clockwise swerve and finally a swift jab straight down.

Morden dodged to the left, narrowly missing the swinging blade, and returned the admirable attempt on his life with several jabs at the Jedi's swinging body, anticipating where it would most likely be. However, the Jedi was a lot faster than Morden gave him credit for, and the crimson blade made contact only with its target's hand as he twisted away. It removed Hael's left hand's index finger and thumb, and a small quantity of the appendage itself. Screaming, the Jedi completed his arcing leap and swivelled around to face the Sith, an enraged scowl on his face.

"Having fun?" Morden sneered and with the index finger of his left hand made a 'come here' motion, while flourishing with his blade.

Hael charged again, his blade held high over his head, screaming a war-cry that sounded native to the Wookiees. Morden pushed off from the ground and, flipping backwards just above ground level, he placed his kick perfectly at the Jedi's weapon hand, knocking the blade out of his grip and sending it flying into the wall of the Tomb. Then, halfway through his backflip, he placed his hand on the ground and used it to redirect his momentum back the way he had come, and as he arced forwards again, he planted his feet on either one of the Jedi's shoulders and brought them down to the ground, slamming his head onto the hard stone. Morden stepped back as the Jedi dragged himself into a standing position.

"Come on- is that all you've got? You're getting old! Show me something new!" Morden sank back into his ready stance.

Quentin reached for his lightsaber hilt, which flew to his hand of its own accord and activated. The Jedi then flipped a switch on its handle and threw it with all the force he could muster at Morden, who swivelled backwards, bending at his ankles until his body was parallel with the ground. He felt the heat of the blade as it spun barely a foot above his head and as it curled around back to its owner's hand, Hael made a twisting motion with his hand, and the lightsaber turned mid-flight and came spinning down at the Sith. Morden pushed himself towards it and, reaching out his hand at the perfect instant, caught the handle and hurled it back at the Jedi before rising back to his feet. Hael stumbled backwards as he avoided his own weapon.

"That's not exactly what I'd call new. My turn now." The Sith lord gripped his hilt in both of his thin but powerful hands and plunged the pommel into the stone floor of the terrace. It sank two feet deep, and he pulled back with it, forcing the base through the stone toward the Jedi, his legs out to either side of him and shaking with the effort. Rather than snapping, the hilt traveled through the stone, pulling up a huge crack in the surface of the ground, which he then laid his hand over and filled with lightning. From there it shot out, elongating the crack until it shot toward Hael, who was just now staggering to his feet. He dived out of the way at the last moment, and was followed by three shafts of the electricity, which narrowly missed him.

He could have killed the Jedi then and there, as he was easily within the range of his weapon, but he stayed his hand and, instead, rose to his feet, wrenching his lightsaber free of the rock. He then walked a few paces over to the wall of the tomb and leaned against it casually.

"Get up, already. That Nikto friend of yours put up a better fight."

That got him going. The Jedi howled and charged, without a lightsaber in his hand, and ploughed into Morden, who deliberately stayed in his place, not moving, merely smirking as the Jedi landed a permacrete-hard fist in his gut. He coughed, but other than that, made no sound. That would only make the Jedi back off, thinking himself the victor. Instead, he took the pounding as it came, knowing that nothing could harm an immortal like himself. In fact, he decided to tell him that.

"I'm immortal, you _nibral_. You can't hurt me!"

"No one is immortal, flak it! You can die just like anyone else!" The Jedi accentuated his words with further blows which were only now beginning to register as somewhat painful.

"Maybe so, but you are not a god of the Force, then, are you?"

"No one is a god of the Force! You deceive yourself!" Hael's blows became fuelled by more than just rage. He was driven by revenge.

"Did I kill someone close to you? A parent or sibling, perhaps?" In spite of the growing pain in his body, Morden chuckled.

"YOU!" A rock collided with the side of the Sith's head. "DESTROYED!" A knee became embedded in his gut, and Morden felt the skin tear. "MY HOME! MY PLANET! _EVERYTHING!_"

"Ah. That would explain this. And the Jedi did nothing to calm your anger? By the way, I would appreciate it if you would please get off. You're starting to become irritating."

Hael screamed and drove both fists into Morden's face, shattering his nose and knocking loose several teeth. He then got to his feet and took two steps back.

Morden spat out his right front tooth and canine, while adjusting his nose back into what felt like its original shape, and then stood up. "Your fists are strong. That's good. Your technique, however, is lacking. You kept hitting the same places over and over again. If you're trying to cause someone pain, you always go for different places. If you focus all your attention on one place, sooner or later it's going to go numb, and they can't feel your next hits."

Hael staggered back. "Just kill me, too." Hael groaned, his rugged face smeared with dirt and blood while tears gouged tracks through the grime. "Kill me and give my life meaning! Kill me like you killed my family. Kill me so I can see my little sister again. Do it." He closed his eyes and held his arms out to either side of him, but Morden made no move against him. "_DO IT!_"

Morden sighed and leaned back on the wall again, coughing shallowly. "You want to know the real reason your family died? Because they were too weak to live." He felt his nose again, which was still pouring out blood like a waterfall. "Had they been stronger, they might have lived, but they were weak. The strong are the only ones who can survive in this Galaxy; surely you must know this. If you are weak, then how can you defend yourself from those who are stronger, and who have both the will and means of taking your life? You could have saved them, if you had been there now, and if you were not driven by unchecked rage. This anger you feel can give you great power, but- if you let it- it can tear you apart."

"I thought you Sith loved your anger." The comment was meant to be an insult, but Morden merely answered it casually.

"Anger is a great tool, but anger unchecked, unfocused, is useless. It may be good for motivation, but it useless if you want to get a job done. It clouds your mind, and blinds you to common sense. This is why you lost today. Had you been trained to focus your rage, you perhaps could have won." He then brought out the line that would finally bring the axe down. "Had you been a Sith, then you would have won."

The Zabrak's eyes became liquid fire, and his fists clenched at his sides. "You think you can turn me after what you did? You'd might as well kill me now, for all the difference it'll make. Kill me!"

Morden shook his head. "It would be such a waste of potential. I see things in you that could be extremely useful to the Sith's cause. You'd be a valuable asset to us, so your wish cannot be granted, I'm afraid. Your only chance of leaving this place is to pledge your allegiance to the Sith. Try to do anything else, and I will stop you. Train under me, and you will learn to harness this rage that courses through your veins. I can teach you how to free yourself of the burdens of anger and its mindless obsession. Join me, and you will become truly invincible."

"If I do nothing, then we'll both just wait here, and starve to death! Why should I not?"

"Because if you remain apathetic, then I will force you to come, and when we get into space, I'll have one of my men drop you out. Then you would die, but not by my hand, and not with any purpose. How is that for an ultimatum?"

"You know you will just make me serve you unwillingly, and that is no way to train an apprentice." The Jedi was grasping at straws now, so Morden burned them all.

"Once you taste the power of the dark side, the sensation of it flowing through your entire body, the pleasure of it, the indescribable elation, you will never be able to let it go- then where would you be without me? What you did just now, to my poor teeth, that was a spark of the dark side fanned into something more. You let your hatred get the better of you, and you experienced the thrill of your moral boundaries collapsing. What more is there than to be free? I can teach you freedom, even if it be through cell bars. Now, I ask again- will you pledge your allegiance to the Sith? Will you face your anger, temper your rage, and see once more?"

Hael knelt. "I pledge myself to your teachings." His voice was choked. "Please, free me from this torment."

"Then let us begin."

"My Lord, we're back, but there wasn't much to find." The Bounty Hunters had returned, and were waiting at the top of the stairs.

_Oh, frak! Worst timing in history; this could sabotage the entire conversion!_

"Your first test." Morden himself grasped at straws, and found a way out. He turned to his apprentice and whispered, "Kill them." He took a step back to watch as the sapphire blade sprung forth again, and as his new apprentice tore the Bounty Hunters apart. It was still the same rage that fuelled him, but Morden saw something else in the Sith, then. Something uncommon. A strange hopeful glint in his eyes, as if the man knew that there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and that he had found the surest way to get there. As his blade fell on the last man, who had barely registered the weapon's approach, Hael Quendin knew that he had found his proverbial destiny at last.


	2. Part 1: Mind Heist

**Morpheus Rising: Part 1**

**Mind Heist**

"Hey!" It was the last word to ever leave the guard's lips.

Hael thumbed the activation button on his lightsaber, and in one jerking motion, characteristic of his preferred Form, Juyo, he cut a deep gash in the man's throat, before he could even deactivate the safety on his blaster. The _snap-hiss!_ of his blood-red weapon activating and closing down again was far louder than he would have preferred, but he could do nothing about the noise; it would have to be tolerated.

Beside him, his comrade-in-arms, Dengel Gengronn, pulled out his twin-bladed weapon and held it at the ready, should the need arise. The leaders of their expedition, Masqua Ren and Theera Delaine walked ahead of the two apprentices, their measured strides carrying them far beyond the others, who had been ordered to protect the rear of the group. Between the four Sith strode a tall man in Mandalorian armour, his helmet clipped to his belt and a long-barrelled sniper rifle in his hand. His blazing red hair was like a beacon in the relative dark of the courtyard as he stalked in between the two rows of guards- not that he would need them if he was opposed.

The only things moving in the entire courtyard were a pair of birds in the towering wroshyr tree in the corner, whose singing was silenced the instant the quintet entered the vicinity, leaving their progress unhindered down the pathway to the front door. Their footsteps were muffled by their custom-made rubber-soled shoes, and their personalized stealth field generators, though turned off, were ready for activation at a moment's notice if need be.

"You've got two hostiles inside, on either side of the door." The voice over the microphone was not a droid's, but close in both intensity and emotion. "The scanners show they look like Weequays, but I can't be sure. Watch yourselves."

Hael clipped his lightsaber to his belt and drew a silenced projectile pistol from the holster at his side, flicking the safety off and holding it at the ready. He kept his eyes on his feet, so as to not trip on something, but his gaze constantly flicked upwards around himself, scanning his surroundings. It was eerily quiet, unnaturally, in fact, as if someone had turned a sound dampener on that eclipsed the entirety of the planet, and the only sounds that escaped it were those made by the Mandalorian's boots on the cobblestone floors.

Ahead of him, Masqua and Theera came to a halt just outside the doorway at the far end of the courtyard, which was made of a rich, reddish wood that gleamed with a fresh layer of varnish. _This man is used to the sweet life. Must be nice._ Hael knelt down, gripping his blaster in both hands and holding it nose to the ground. His black helmet's comm connections brought him audio of his allies' heavy breathing, and the sound of Dengel humming a song to himself to calm his nerves. "Any idea why Morden wanted us to do this? Or did he just order you, too?" He knew that the helmet would not let any sound escape, but still he spoke in a whisper.

"You're his apprentice- shouldn't he have told you? Or does he send you off to your death like everyone else on his team?" Theera's nasal, self-assured tone was infuriating, but Hael kept his response polite, as was the rule when talking to your superiors in the Sith Legions- he hated that rule.

"He tells me all that I need to know."

"Which isn't all that much, apparently." Dengel's tone was hardly ever unkind, but there was an ever-present edge to it that bespoke of a great loathing inside him, no matter how far he buried it. _Yet another hopeless case the Sith have taken in, it seems._

Masqua placed a small, circular device over the control panel that activated the door, and a moment later, a green light flicked on in the centre of it, and the Sith opened the door, firing two shots inside first, which found their targets perfectly, it seemed, while giving off no more than a soft _hiss_ upon discharge. They advanced into the mansion. Just before he walked through the door, Hael glanced upwards, and saw the thirteen other floors that stretched upwards, the intricate exterior appearing like something out of a holovid. It was an imposing sight, knowing that they would have to somehow make their way, unseen, to the very top floor to accomplish their mission. Soon after, the sight was swallowed by the top of the doorframe.

In reality, Morden had told him why they had been sent on this mission: "the power of the mind" had been his direct quotation. He said that there was a personal Holocron of the man who owned the mansion, detailing all his work on the higher functions of the mind, and what could be done with or to it through the many means there were in the Galaxy, and Morden coveted the Holocron and the secrets held within. He would not say anything more than that, but he did mention that there would be more than just basic security involved; he had told Hael to 'keep his anchor in reality', whatever _that_ meant.

"You're going to make a right here, and at the third intersection of corridors, turn left and you'll come to a turbolift which leads to the lower levels, and the maintenance hallways." The voice clicked off again, leaving Hael's helmet filled with the sounds of his comrades breathing again. Then it came back, "Watch it, you've got a patrol of droids coming down the hall behind you; there's eight of them."

They scurried into the various doorways, but the Mandalorian simply vanished on the spot, and a few moments later, the droids came into view. They were massive, supported by a unicycle wheel and wielding what looked like illegally-modified repeating blaster carbines where their hands should have been. Hael was scared even to breathe, and instead held it in until they passed, hoping that the Mandalorian would not try anything stupid, like trying to shoot them in the backs; their armour plating looked equally illegal outside of the military. The Mandalorian's shadow vanished, as well, eliminating all traces of him immediately, and the droids passed him, completely oblivious. Hael dared not breathe as they passed by, not knowing what enhancements they had been given by their master, and by the time they had passed by, he could feel his lungs contracting. Just as his vision began to fade, the droids passed him by. Their footsteps grew quieter as they progressed farther away from them, and when they could no longer be heard, the Sith came out of hiding, and the Mandalorian shimmered into visibility again.

Advancing at a more wary pace, they crept along the hall, passing doorways made of the same rare wood and paintings by various esteemed authors of past decades which looked to be genuine originals, but Hael was not well acquainted with the world of luxury, so his appraisal was hardly bankable. When they reached the intersection, they all stopped just before it while the Mandalorian went ahead with his stealth field generator on to check for hostiles. Seeing none, he signalled to them to come along, and they followed their advisor's directions down to the turbolift. Masqua stepped forward again, and with a fusion cutter in his precise hands, he sliced open the panel that required a code to access and in moments, he had wired it open again, before replacing the cover.

The turbolift was cramped, circular, and made of a doctor's-uniform blue hued metal; they were forced to take two trips, with Theera and the Mandalorian down first, and Dengel, Masqua and Hael second. The wait seemed endless while the first trip was made; it was obviously a long way down. Hael kept himself flattened against the wall, in case another patrol came along, every second raising the chances of them being spotted, and every minute an hour of anxiety. Masqua and his slicers' ways had made sure that the security cameras would be looped for exactly two hours, but there was no way of knowing whether or not they had any corrective measures, so at any moment, the alarms might go off and give them away. When he saw a patrol coming his way, his heart leaped into his throat, and his stomach clenched up, making it hard to move. At the intersection, they did not turn, and kept coming on their way, and the lift was barely three hundred meters down the hall; the doorway was barely deep enough to hide him and Masqua, while Dengel was stationed in the next doorway, at the other end of the hall. The patrol seemed to consist of more of the gigantic droids, though their weaponry seemed to be a different make; he couldn't identify it from a distance.

They approached at a slow, yet steady pace, and though Hael searched the entire area, he could not see a single means of cover, not in the floor, not in the walls, not even in a crevasse on the roof; their target had obviously taken pains to make sure his house was nearly impossible to hide in. Just as he became certain the droids could see him, the turbolift opened, and an arm pulled him and his two remaining allies inside, before closing the door as soon as they were inside.

"Cutting it kind of close, aren't you?" The Mandalorian's only response was a miniscule tilt of his head, which had been covered by his helmet, and was playing host to a large splattering of something an extremely dark shade of blue. It looked to be similar to Thermion blood.

The turbolift descended for a few seconds, before opening into a scene of slaughter. Theera stood in the centre of the hallway, and her red lightsaber was drawn and plunged into the stomach of a massive Trandoshan. Dead bodies littered the ground, and they were all either killed by a cauterizing weapon or something that must have been the Mandalorian's extendable vibroblade. Theera shoved the Trandoshan off, and her blade deactivated. Then, motioning for the others to follow her, she walked off down the brightly-lit maintenance corridors.

The walls were an offensive white hue, which combined with the bright light made Hael's eyes sore, while the floors were a sickening yellow; it was no doubt designed to dissuade the weak of both heart and constitution to go any further- this no doubt meant that they were nearing their goal. Indeed, the maintenance tunnels were a short trek down the agonizing hallway, and as Masqua's blade sank into the manhole covering the entrance, Hael began to truly appreciate the inoffensive darkness of the musty corridors of Korriban. They filed through the hole in the shaft, and in agonizing contrast, were plunged into absolute darkness.

"No lights!" Masqua ordered. "Can't risk it. Use your powers."

Hael reached out with his senses, and a hazy outline of his surroundings presented themselves to his inner eye. It felt like he merely remembered where to go; he couldn't see them, in either the backs of his eyes or the fronts, but he knew exactly where everything and everyone was. It was an eerie feeling.

A narrow access ladder was at the far end of the tunnel, where it curved upward and went for hundreds of meters to the very top floor. When they reached the ladder, Hael made the mistake of reaching upward, and 'saw' the massive height they had to climb, and was almost driven to give up- only the knowledge of what would await him if he did that kept him from turning tail.

"We have to use the ladder- the ascension cables would make too much noise. Theera, you first. I'll go after, and you- Mandalorian- will go after me. Hael and Dengel follow behind in whatever order you want." Masqua motioned toward the ladder.

"Any particular reason why you want to be under the only woman in the group?" Hael could imagine the knowing smirk on the Mandalorian's face as he heard the clambering of the ladder start as Theera mounted it.

"Enough of that." The Lord's whispered threat cut the snickers of Dengel and Hael short. "We're here to work."

"Don't remind us, remind yourself."

The look Masqua gave him would have frozen over a star.

Theera ascended the ladder, and Masqua followed, despite the laughing of his comrades, and the others followed suit. Hael forced the thoughts of what would happen should he fall out of his mind, and put one hand in front of the other, one foot in front of the other, up and up and up for what seemed like hours. The grunting of his companions did nothing to ease his unease, and when Dengel swore as he found out just how much farther they had yet to go, it made him even worse. The humour of a moment before had died away, and in its place there was nothing but something bordering on terror. It was not panic, but rather a sort of limbo between serenity and complete and total terror, as if a single gust of wind would push him over the edge of the cliff and into the pit of anxiety. That choice of algorism didn't help either.

For too long they climbed; the stairway to heaven would have been shorter. Hael could do nothing else to ease the anxiety that he felt building up inside of him, so he started to hum a song to himself, after turning off the microphone on his helmet. It helped for a while, but when it ended, he had no desire to sing it again, or to start up another one, so he tried talking to himself, starting up a conversation, and that crashed to a halt pretty quickly. It was as if his mind deliberately wanted to make him suffer through every moment of this torture. When Theera finally whispered that the tunnel ended up ahead, it was not a second too soon. From up ahead, he could hear the sounds of a silenced vibrosaw cutting through the metal of the tunnel entrance, followed by shuffling as the others filed through the makeshift exit, and when he finally emerged into a place with firm ground underneath his feet, he felt the sudden urge to kiss it, though he somehow managed to restrain himself.

"Ok, everyone- let's get going. Intel says his safe-room is three doors down on the left- Mando, you got this, right?"

The Mandalorian shrugged. "I'm insulted by the notion that I may not be."

Masqua checked the pressure gauge on his suit's wrist. "These things have power enough for two hours more- when that time's over, the cloaking devices will shut down in seconds, and we'll be sitting ducks. We've gotta get this job done and be out of here before then. Is that clear?"

"Masqua?" Dengel chuckled.

"Yeah?"

"You worry too much. Now let's go."

The Mandalorian made quick work of the security measures around the door, and he led the way with a cocky stride, into the safe-room, helmet on and blaster ready.

The room was empty. There was not a single thing in it; the walls, floors, and ceiling were all a uniform wooden panel, and even the door was covered by rows of dark brown wooden boards.

"Well, that shows how reliable your _intel_ really is." The Mandalorian turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

"Wait." Masqua's eyes narrowed, and they searched the room with a calculating gaze, as if picking out which board to hack to pieces first. In an instant, his lightsaber appeared, ignited, in his hands, and he glided to the other side of the room before cutting a hole through the wall, which fell through into a dark room beyond. "See?" He smirked. "Very reliable."

He led the way into the room, his red lightsaber illuminating it to a certain degree. Hael followed, and he could instantly feel the size of the room, easily the size of an Imperial Fleet command ship; obviously the building was a lot larger than they had first suspected.

"Spooky," Dengel announced, his voice echoing through the room. "Anyone got a glow-rod big enough to light this place up a bit?"

'Keep your voice down, _di'kut_." The Mandalorian snapped. "If there's anyone in here, they know we're here now, thanks to your king-size mouth."

As if on some kind of cue, the lights went on, but they were not any kind of artificial light; it was the light of a water-filled cave. The ceiling was too high to be seen, and the walls to either side were invisible as well, but they could see far enough ahead to make out a bridge over a thousand-foot-deep chasm with water at the bottom. The floor, walls, and bridge were all made of stone, an uncut rock that could not have been brought inside the building.

"Does anyone remember seeing that this building was actually pretty small? It didn't have a mountain behind it or anything." Dengel unclipped his lightsaber and held it, un-activated, by his side.

"Something's weird here." The Mandalorian raised his blaster and fired a shot into the cave, which rebounded off the rock and into the chasm before meeting the water at the bottom and causing an eruption of sizzling steam. "Laser blasts don't bounce off rocks."

"You're right." Masqua muttered. "Stay sharp."

The Mandalorian followed, mumbling under his breath. "Stay sharp. Right. Of course, all-mighty Master. Whatever you say. If you're not careful, I'll shove something sharp up your—"

"There's something moving over there." Theera pointed into the shadows off to their right. "Something big."

Masqua angled his lightsaber over in the direction she indicated, and at that instant, a massive creature slammed into him, knocking the blade from his hand, which extinguished itself and plunged them into darkness again. They heard Masqua's screaming as the thing pushed him forward, and then the screams grew magnified, as if he had suddenly entered a bigger room with an extreme reverb, and suddenly they stopped, and were replaced by the sound of an almighty _splash_. Silence followed.

The Mandalorian grunted, "Hmmph. Never liked him anyway."

Theera, however, merely stood, stock-still, with her mouth hanging open and a tear in her eye. The Mandalorian snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Hey! Doll-face! Wake up! He's dead; get over it. We've got to finish the mission." She followed him without a word. Hael did the same, still in shock.

The Bridge seemed the only logical place to go. It was a long, plain expanse of rock, too easy to cross for them to fall for it; Dengel tore the top button off of his tunic and tossed it onto the bridge, about a dozen meters in, and immediately a rock stalagmite erupted from the ground, like a switchblade popping open, and Hael could see that the button had been impaled at the dead centre by the razor-sharp tip of the rock formation.

"Well, that's problematic." The Mandalorian stepped forward, his head cocked to the side analytically. "Do we know where the Holocron is supposed to be?"

"Obviously across the bridge. The problem is if there's actually a way across it.." Hael pointed to a tunnel, barely visible, at the other end of the precipice, delving into another mountain face like a wormhole into space, with nothing but darkness beyond.

"Do you think that we might have come the wrong way?" Theera asked. "Maybe this man knew that, in case there would be people coming along to steal his treasure, he made it impossible to get there the conventional way, and only through some back passage from the other side of the mountain could we get to the Holocron, and this is only a diversion? It's what I would do."

"Yeah, it would be a smart idea, except for one small point of concern that must be addressed. The Mandalorian turned his head back to face her.

"What's that?"

"There are no mountains on this planet. None that reach the twelfth story of a mansion in the middle of a field."

"You mean...?"

"Yep. The Mind Doctor has got three more patients."

"Sir, we have a perimeter breach; we have to leave, now." The man's personal assistant burst into his study, and was met with a raised hand in the universal "wait" signal.

"We've had an unexpected spike of good luck in this so-called _perimeter breach_. They've found my safe-room, now I can finally see if it works." The man turned back to the view screen, raising a glass of a fine champagne in a mute toast to the secretary's health.

"But we're in danger here. We have to leave." The Twi'lek woman reached over his desk and opened the black case that would normally contain a writing stylus. Instead of a pen, she drew out a smell black remote, with a red button in the middle, which she compressed, meriting the sound of disused metal scraping against more metal, and a door swung open next to the antique fireplace in the wall.

"We will. But first I must know whether my work has born any fruit. Then we can leave, my dear. Please allow me a small amount of academic curiosity. Ready my ship, and I will meet you there in a few minutes."

"As you wish."

This was pure genius. It was terrifying, but genius nonetheless. It was straightforward enough in concept, but in execution, it was quite difficult. _But that's what makes it fun._ He glanced down into the chasm beneath him, before directing his gaze back up immediately before his mind would cause the world, however artificial it was, to spin. Up ahead, the Mandalorian waited impatiently, holding his liquid cable line taught while Hael tread across it toward the other side of the trench.

"You can hurry up any decade you want," he called over. "Aren't you Force-users supposed to be good at this kind of stuff?"

"Shut up." It was all Hael could manage, approaching the halfway point, where he would be at the most dangerous point of his trek. The line began to wobble, and Hael's mind started to flash through the consequences of falling; the plummet, the impact, and the sight of his mangled body sinking to the bottom of the water below, he seized those images and tore them to pieces, using the scraps to fuel the fires of the dark side inside him, and in turn using it to propel him forward across the line to the ledge beyond, in the blink of an eye. He felt like kissing the ground when his feet set down upon it, but out of sheer will, he resisted the urge.

"You see? _That's_ what I'm talking about." The Mandalorian offered a fist, but Hael didn't meet it with his; he was still fighting the urge to vomit.

He refused to watch as Theera and Dengel crossed the gap, and all the while, his thoughts wandered to Masqua's fate. He had never liked the man, for the Inquisitor had always exerted a calm, insufferable aura of superiority and distain toward others with whom he came in contact, like he was some sort of god, and all other people were beneath his notice, mere puppets to his will, or toys to satisfy his wants and desires. He opened up and accepted the rest of Morden's choice task force after a few months of service with them, but Hael had always got the feeling that he was hiding something, that he had some other goal in mind. He had sworn his loyalty to Morden and the Sith with enough fervour and fealty, but that didn't necessarily mean that he would keep up his loyalty to the cause when it no longer fit his plans. At a mere forty years old, he was much wiser and more cunning than the rest of them gave him credit for, and for that, Hael had never trusted him.

But on the other hand, he had saved their lives more times than Hael could care to count- didn't that mean something? That he felt some kind of companionship or kinship with them, that he couldn't bear to see them die, and so had intervened for sentimental reasons as well as logical? Hael wished he could find some humanity in the man, some sign that he was not some kind of unemotional robot created for the selfsame task of killing and exploiting the galaxy. Hael was the kind of man who looked for the good in others, and when he didn't find any, he planted the seeds of goodness, despite his being a Sith.

That Masqua had fallen made him wish he had somehow helped in making the dead man a little better while he had been alive, and he got the feeling that he had failed at it.

"Do you suppose he's really dead?" Theera suddenly appeared by his side, gazing down into the precipice below. "This is some kind of mind game, so do you think he's really still alive, just out of the simulation? Or has his mind been shattered because he has died?"

"The only way we'll ever find out is if we get out of here. But we can't leave without the Holocron." Hael turned to face her, and saw genuine tears on her face. He didn't pursue why they were there, and simply put a hand on her shoulder. It felt odd, seeing as how she was not all that much older than he, and yet she was so much older in the mind, and _he_ was the one comforting _her_. "Keep faith."

"What is faith?" She grumbled, brushing his hand aside.

"It's what keeps us going when nothing else can." He left it at that, and walked away in the direction of the tunnel.

Masqua awoke with a start, and his lightsaber was in his hands, ready to fend off any attacker. Only there were none.

He glanced around, and took in his surroundings. The others were all around him, lying on the ground in a tumbled mess, seemingly unconscious. The large room was a dull gray, entirely metal, and plain, with no furniture, no other people, nothing. He could see the hole he had cut through the wall beside him, and the safe-room, where he knew his goal lay now. _There must be another room somewhere off the safe-room somewhere._ He stood up, and approached the left-hand wall, his lightsaber raised to fend off any unforeseen attackers.

He couldn't sense anything beyond the wall, but when he checked the room where his cohorts were still unconscious, he found he couldn't sense them either, or anything beyond that wall either, so he could not rely on his senses in here. He plunged his lightsaber into the wall, and jerked it around, carving a hole into the wood and the metal beneath it, exposing the room beyond. It seemed to be a workshop, filled to the brim with mechanical implements and holobooks, and an old service droid, shut down in the corner. There were no doors in the room, so Masqua moved on to the other wall. After producing a hole from the wall, he stepped inside, and saw what he was looking for- the mansion's proprietor's study. It looked much the same as the workshop, though a little tidier, and there was a master computer on an otherwise barren desk at the far end of the room, where the swivel-chair which was nearby was still spinning from its owner's recent hasty evacuation. Masqua could see no one in the room, but he kept his eyes peeled for any signs of movement, all the while expecting someone to leap from behind a bookshelf or under a folding table and stick a vibroblade into his back. Masqua approached the master computer, and pulled the swivel chair up to sit down in it. Stepping out of his comfort zone was something he seemed to be doing a lot more often nowadays; he _hated_ slicing. The word evoked a sense of quick, effective slashes that took down defenses easily and momentarily, but the art of hacking a system was anything but that. Sure, some slicers could do it in a matter of seconds, but those were the expert guys that charge both arms and legs for their service; he didn't have the time, patience, or stomach to get that good at a skill he could just get logistics to pick up a guy to do.

He inserted the opener utensil he was required to carry into the incoming port, and the screen came online and the device began to search through the passcode directory until it found the most commonly used selection of letters on that screen, and after a few tries at scrambling them into the correct code, it hit upon the right one, and the screen changed to the home desktop which, strangely, was a picture of the Sith Empire's Insignia, surrounded by Aurebesh letters reading "_United by less than bond or blood"_. Masqua couldn't tell what that meant; he assumed it meant something along the lines of a sarcastic jab that the Sith were not united- maybe this "_professor_" Morden had told them about had a sense of humour or a really negative outlook on the Sith.

On the screen, there were no icons, and the taskbar on the side had only the directory, which read "Empty" when he touched it with his finger. He opened it, and inside found another folder, entitled "System Commands".

"Not so empty, now are you?" He opened the folder, and a long list of commands, all highlighted in red with a warning "do not use" beside them, appeared, all pertaining to a "machine", which could only mean the mind manipulating device in which he had just perished.

That bit at his pride, having been killed by a simulated dumb animal, only to find that he really hadn't died- what if it hadn't been a simulation? What if he had actually been faced with a situation like that, and he really did tumble over the edge to his death at the bottom of a cliff? He thought he had trained himself to be ready for all kinds of confrontations, and yet when faced with a simple Bullmarl, he had been sent to his watery death after a mere two seconds of surprise. He resolved to read more books on "how to survive obscure dangerous situations".

The list of commands in the folder consisted of a small variety, including "Building Lockdown", and "High Alert". But the ones he found he needed were at the very bottom: "Shut down Mind Game" and "Holocron Defenses Shut Down"- he was just about to activate them, when the door opened behind him.

"Don't do that." He wheeled around to see a Twi'lek woman standing in the doorway, with a blaster in her hand. It was levelled perfectly with his face, and she looked as though she knew how to use a weapon.

"And why not?" He cocked his head back a little, exposing his throat and looking at her down his nose.

"Because I'll shoot you if you do," she said, matter-of-factly.

"Ah. Of course. The violence factor." He smirked. "You do know that blasters do really very little against a Sith? So I could just kill you now, and then get back to my work here. What's to stop me?"

"This." She pulled the trigger, and instead of a single discharge, in the form of a bolt, a wave of energy poured from the muzzle of her weapon, and when they met Masqua, he felt as though he were drowning in molten iron, with a constant thrum of heat and jarring pain that sent him reeling into the bookshelf to his right, which he slid down to the floor, writhing. As his vision went dark, he felt her putting stun cuffs on him, which gave him immense relief as he slipped into the welcome arms of unconsciousness, having escaped the pincers of something worse.

The Holocron's light illuminated the cavern as Hael climbed his way down the ledge to the floor, where the object waited on its pedestal. Theera, Dengel, and the Mandalorian followed, close behind, the choruses of grunts of strain and sharp intakes of breath as their hands met something with an edge sounding like some exotic choir performing a song from a savage planet. He picked his way down the sheer face of the cliff at an agonizingly slow rate, all the while wanting nothing more than to leap down and grab the Holocron, thereby ending the whole scenario in the blink of an eye. But he knew that it had to be more complicated than that. It always was.

He was right.

As soon as he set foot on the ground, the entire structure of the cave changed. The room rotated, as if on a horizontal pivot, until he was standing on the ceiling, which had just been the floor, but the Holocron had not moved, and was now directly above him, and he could swear that if it had a gatekeeper like the rest of them, the man would be laughing. Then the voice came.

"You didn't think it would be that easy, now did you?" The voice was a rich baritone, and it made Hael think of those corny holovision infomercial voices, with a forced intensity that was somehow cheerful, like a game-show host just as he was about the throw a pie in someone's face. Though Hael knew that there would be worse things than pie in here. "Now here's what you've gotta do," the voice continued. "You've got to complete my challenges, all ten of them, before you can get the Holocron. If you're smart, strong, and foolhardy enough to complete them, then you're welcome to have it, but if not, then I'm sorry to say that you'll never make it out of here."

"Oh, frak. I've seen this 'vid before." The Mandalorian groaned. "Screw it." He raised his arm, and fired the liquid cable at the Holocron. It stuck into the rock formation on which it rested- Hael wondered if he could call it 'resting on it', as the formation was above it, now that it was upside-down- and he pulled. The line vanished in an instant, and was replaced by a snake, which let go of the rock, and turned around to hiss at the Mandalorian before darting forward to bite him. The Mando fired one shot through its open mouth, and it fell down dead, twitching as its nervous system fried. "This just keeps getting weirder."

"Pass the snacks, this movie looks good." Dengel walked forward, and looked around expectantly. "So what's the first _challenge_, Oh Great And Evil One?"

"The first trial is the trial of skill, much like that of the Jedi Order. If you can survive the next five minutes, then you can move on to the next challenge."

Their weapons vanished, and appeared next to the Holocron, slowly rotating and spinning as if caught in a zero-gravity hole.

"Oh, kark."

The floor burst open, and what seemed like a horde of mud poured out. Hael realized that they were _bugs_, and instantly he sent them careening back with a wave of the Force, into the wall opposite. They lay there, stunned, for a few moments, and then got up, shook themselves, and charged again. He couldn't tell what species of insect they were, but he knew that t they must have been poisonous, as they were never harmless creepy-crawlies in these games, so he treated them as hostiles, and acted accordingly.

"Everyone get back!" He stretched his hands out in front of him, fingers pointing at the insects, and a barrage of Force lightning came pouring from them, enveloping the swarm in a curtain of electricity, charring them all to death. The barrage took up all of Hael's concentration and will to sustain, and the corners of his eyesight began to darken the longer he kept it up. He saw the room itself begin to flicker, though he knew that it was only his failing sight playing tricks on him, and he realized his endurance time was running out. When he felt his knees begin to buckle, he ceased the onslaught, and the lightning emptied itself out into the floor, where a massive pile of ashes lay where the bugs had been a minute before.

"I _hate_ bugs." He growled, and dropped his smoking hands to his side.

"Impressive, Sith." The voice came back. "Now let's see what's next on the list."

When he woke up, Masqua could feel the constant vibrating of a ship engine, and the tightness of the cuffs on his wrists as the ship ascended into the air, and when he opened his eyes, he saw the Twi'lek in front of him, with her blaster pointed at his face.

"Move and you're dead," she greeted him.

"Good morning to you, too," he smirked. "I'm Masqua, by the way. I don't suppose I get to know your name?"

"No, you don't."

"Of course not."

He was seated in an extremely uncomfortable position, but he didn't dare adjust himself, or he knew the Twi'lek shutta would follow through with her threat of shooting him upon his moving at all. Instead, he sighed and resigned himself to a long, silent trip.

"So where exactly are we headed?" He asked,

"Classified," was his only answer.

"You sound like a soldier."

"Maybe I am."

"No you're not."

She didn't bother pursuing the argument, but all the same, she glared at him, and he could tell that she was envisioning pulling the trigger and what he would look like with a blaster hole in his face. He wouldn't let that fantasy become a reality, though he wasn't sure how he was to avert such a fate while bound hand and foot.

"So how do I fit into your plans?" he asked, wringing his hands to test the strength of the bonds.

"You don't. So we're going to drop you once we get going."

"Space me?"

"No. Drop you. In the atmosphere. Then you'll be able to burn on your way down to the surface." She seemed to take some sadistic pleasure in telling him the details of his imminent death.

"How violent." He knew here that stalling for time wasn't going to work, so he tried a different tactic. _Come on, Morden trained me up enough to get out of a bloody pair of handcuffs. Let's get a move on!_

"Don't move anywhere." The Twi'lek instructed him. She trudged off, grabbing hold of any secured object to steady herself against the bucking of the ship.

_It must be a small ship, for it to be tossing around so much, even in high winds._ Masqua could see numerous ways to use this to his advantage, but he decided the simplest way was the best in this case, and opted for it.

The Force could be a powerful ally when subtlety was needed, and especially when it came to subtly breaking free of stun cuffs; he felt through the bonds' inner workings with his mind and, applying pressure in key places, he felt them power down in an instant, leaving him free to tear himself out with minimal effort. He could hear the Twi'lek returning, her swears and curses as the ship bucked beneath her heralding her arrival long before. Masqua rose to his feet, and searched the room for his lightsaber, though his search yielded no results before he had to react to the Twi'lek's arrival. He flattened himself beside the door, and when it opened, he waited as the Twi'lek started at the sight of Masqua not being where he had been, and as she rushed in the door to investigate. When she was in the room, he hit the switch that made the door slide shut, and let the moment sink in when she saw him standing there, a grim smile on his face.

"Time to die."

"Most impressive." The Voice With No Source was frantic, though he tried to sound calm; Hael knew it to be an exceedingly ineffective ruse. "You have proven yourself quite worthy. All ten challenges have been overcome, though I have a personal query before I yield the Holocron up to you. Why is it that you desire my property?"

"Our Master desires it, and—"

"And so he sends you to come and fetch it, then? How tragic. For a moment, I thought you were flattering me for academic purposes. It seems I was wrong. But why does your Master desire it?"

The question made Hael realize just how little Morden actually told him. Nothing. He didn't know what the Holocron did- he had found that out on his own. He didn't know what Morden hoped to gain with it, or what he hoped to use it for, except as torment for those he wanted to agonize with impossible worlds and scenarios. Or perhaps it was just for personal, perverted use; Hael could think of several ways of using a mind-world-creator for such purposes. Either way, Hael knew less than he should, and he didn't like that, mainly because of the fact that this point may cause them to lose what they had come to retrieve, should the Voice With No Source not like it either.

But he didn't have to tell the truth, either. Better to weave a lie to bolster the Voice's pride and get the Holocron than to tell the truth and risk losing it.

"He is a doctor in the art of the Mind, and when he discovered that you had made such progress in this field, then he coveted your Holocron, so as to learn what you have learned."

"YOU ARE LYING!" The Voice suddenly came from directly behind him, and Hael whirled around and dropped into a fighting stance, before coming face-to-face with nobody. "You know nothing about why he desires my work. I see your mind, Sith, and it is mine. You are in my world now, Sith, and you will never leave. This Machine, my Conduit, will never fall into the hands of lesser men such as your Master. You will die here, and now."

The cave walls began to tremble, then quake, and contract, slowly crushing each other as they formed a perfect stone square that continued to close in, defying Theera and Dengel's attempts to push it back with the Force. Hael and the Mandalorian stood back-to-back, trying to find a way out, and finding none. Hael's senses could find no chink in the walls, no weaknesses, nothing, and there were no Powers of the Force that could save one from the mind. _Save from the mind..._ he thought... Hael remembered how the room had flickered when he had electrocuted the insects, though he had thought it to have been just his eyesight failing him as his body tired, but perhaps? Morden had mentioned the mind once in his teachings... he had said something about it...

_"The Force is controlled by the mind, the greatest tool of any being. The mind is the ruler of the body, and answers only to the soul. As long as your mind can function, the Force is your tool."_ It was a long shot, but it was worth a try.

He unleashed a torrent of lightning at the oncoming walls, calling for the others to do the same, and he put all his strength behind the blast, all his will to survive, all his desire to see the real world again after this unreal not-world, and he found new strength in his will. The blast continues, pumping electricity into the mind machine, and he could feel strange jolts of electricity flowing through him, though no stray bolts touched him. He hoped that meant he had been right. His vision started to blur again, but he paid no heed, and simply continued his barrage, ignoring the growing, throbbing pain in his head. He saw the room begin to flicker again, and this time he paid attention to it, and saw the details: through the small cracks, and hexagons of emptiness, he could just make out the features of another room, with the walls covered in metal plates and with strange instruments, the kinds of which one would expect in either a dentist's or a doctor's office.

The cracks were growing larger when the migraine came, like a power drill boring into his temples, and he faltered in his onslaught. The walls, meanwhile, had been growing ever closer, and if he reached out far enough, he could touch them. They were running out of time, fast, and he didn't know if they could continue this quick enough.

The others were likewise affected by the migraines, and they clawed at their temples and screamed, ceasing all attempts to stop the walls from crushing them.

"Hey, everyone?" The Mandalorian said, holding up his satchel. "Would this help?" He reached in, and lobbed three electrostatic grenades at the walls, where they stuck, and the countdown began. "Now keep doing your thing, unless you wanna die!"

This shook them out of their agony, though it did not take away the pain. They continued their assault, and waited for the five seconds which felt like five hours for the grenades to detonate. The fracturing world continued to sizzle in and out of focus, and when the grenades discharged their millions of volts into the walls, it went into complete overload. Hael felt his head split apart, and he screamed in pure agony, screwing his eyes shut and clamping his hands over his ears. He lost all senses except the pain; he couldn't hear the others screaming, or the sounds of the machine overloading, he couldn't see anything, and couldn't smell the smoke streaming through the seams of the room in the real world. When he opened his eyes, there was nothing to see, and he fell into the abyss behind his eyes.

The Twi'lek responded as he had expected, and fired the gun at him. Masqua leapt aside, out of the range of the rays, and thrust a hand out at her, calling upon the Force and causing her to fall backwards, and the gun went flying from her hands, off to the other side of the cargo hold. He grinned and tightened his grip on her through the Force into a choking throttle, and she screamed. He clenched his fist, and her neck snapped with a satisfying _crack!_ and she fell to the floor. Upon a quick search, he found his lightsaber in her pocket, and he ran into the cockpit with it in his hands, readying himself in case there was another person in there to kill.

_"Alert. The escape pod has been jettisoned," _The automated speakers announced, and he got his answer.

_Then who's driving?_

The sudden downward change in direction answered that question as well.

The real world had never been such a welcome sight. Hael got up off the patch of scorched grounds where his Force Lightning had overpowered the Machine, and left the Mind Room immediately.

"Let's not do that again." The Mandalorian growled as he stood up and approached the Holocron, which was in the middle of the tiny room in which they had been subjected to the misery of mind games. "You think there's any more defenses on this thing?"

"No." Theera walked up and seized it, dropping the metal artefact into her satchel. "And screw it if it does."

"Now there's a mental picture I really didn't need." Dengel picked himself up, and left the room. "Where's Masqua?"

"Right here." The voice came from the least likely of directions: up. Hael looked skyward, and saw, through a window in the ceiling, a man with an activated red lightsaber, which he used to slash an opening in the window and drop through.

"How'd you get there?" Theera asked.

"You don't want to know. Long story short, I flew. Now let's get the hell off this planet before I have a psychotic episode."

"Sounds like a plan."

_End of Episode One._


	3. Part 2: The Consular

_**The Last Stand on Desaana**_

_**We Few, We Happy Few, We Band of Brothers, For He To-day Who Sheds His Blood With Me Shall Be My Brother.**_

_**-Henry V**_

**Bold text- edited for post editing.**

**M**_y name is Aris, serial number BVX-27394, of the Republic's Last Command of the troops on Desaana, and on this day, I am going to die. I know this better than anyone, and I am going to wring the last drops of usefulness out of these, my final moments of life. I am going to make them count. As our acting Commander, Jedi Master Valendar Kaalber, said to us in yesterday's final address to the troops,_

_ "We Will all die, but we will never flee. The only thing that matters now in life is our story- so let's not disappoint. Just remember this- when you die, which you will, just be sure to take some of them with you."_

_**I**_'ve been through many battles that smelled of near-defeat, but never one that stank of total obliteration; I've never been in one like this. The Sith are many, we are barely a handful, but we will not yield- death comes first. Needless to say, we few are scared, terrified, even, but we have our orders, and we will follow them to the end, even if that end is our final end.

If we hold the front for as long as we can, we may be able to give our brothers-in-arms the time they need to get to safety and warn the Republic of the imminent danger they face on this front, and that they must flee for reinforcements. We, however, will not flee. We _will_ not flee. We _must_ not flee.

_**T**_he Sith Legions approach our single battalion on foot, across the narrow natural rock bridge separating Colny Island from the Mainland, their heavy footfalls drowned in the roaring of the surf below us as it crashes against the dark grey cliffs. The bridge is just strong enough to support us and them, but needless to say, we have our share of tricks on the field, and I am monitoring their status even now from the fifth line of our ranks.

Colny Island is where our camp is situated, on the other side of the half-crescent mountain range, and where the group of smugglers on whose shoulders all our hopes lie is frantically trying to repair their sabotaged hyperdrive. If we do not hold the Sith back long enough, then all hope for the Republic's efforts in this sector will be doomed. The smugglers and we form a symbiotic relationship now- they rely on us for time to get clear of Desaana, while we rely on them to hold up to their end of the bargain and carry our message to the Republic's war office on Coruscant as quickly as possible.

The Sith are here at the bidding of a Lord named Morden, a snake of a man with no discernible overall goal in his plans; whatever he does, it seems completely random, and none of our logicians can figure out what he wants with what he does. So our battalion, the HRS 190th, has been tasked with the job of overcoming his legions. We have done so very well, until today; Morden's legions have finally marked us for death, and they're coming to kill us all. The thing is, though, that neither one of our sides have any ranged weapons, our ammunition having run out long ago, and no supply ships have come to resupply us with fresh ammo, so we are forced to fight with melee weapons and projectiles, like primitive barbarians from the prehistoric times. It suits me just fine, though; melee weapons have always held a nostalgic place in me, for some reason, and it'll be a welcome change to fight my last fight the way people fought so long ago.

I pull my vibrosword from its position sheathed across my back and plunge it into the ground beside me, where it will wait to be retrieved until I am ready.

"Crew of the _Crescent Sun_, do you read me? Status report." I order into the built-in headset on my helmet.

The reply is a few moments in waiting. "We need half an hour more, can you give us that?"

I look toward the Sith Army; they are marching closer and closer; it would be a long shot at best to hold them off for thirty minutes. "We'll try." I close down the signal and open the channel to Valendar.

"The smugglers say they need another half and hour."

The armoured Jedi's voice is inhumanly controlled for such a dire time as this. "Tell them it's done."

I set the HUD-based countdown for thirty standard minutes.

I begin to sweat heavily under my armour, but I cannot change the interior temperature now for fear of the attack starting while I am unprepared. Instead, I grit my teeth and remain as calm as I can be. Death had never been something I really thought about until now, when it is staring me right in the face. I am completely unprepared. I know that when you die, you become "one with the Force," but what the flack is _that_ supposed to mean? I become incorporeal? I become an omnipresent observer of all the kark that goes on in the great expanse of horror that is the galaxy? _**What**_? Never before have I felt so vulnerable, so helpless.

_No- don't think like that! It will all be fine; the afterlife has to be nice, right? Why not? _It is a hard question to answer, so I simply agree with myself.

The Sith are dangerously close now, and though there are no actual dark side wielders among them, they are still cause to hesitate. Commander Valendar, however, removes his helmet, drops it on the ground and shakes his head, dirty-blond hair whipping around, and he _laughs._ "Here they are, men!" He shouts to us from the head of our battalion, pointing at the oncoming Sith with his middle finger. "Do you see grown men worthy of us?" He is riling us up, getting us pumped.

"NO!" We shout in tandem.

"Do you see a real threat, one of which we should be soiling ourselves in fear?"

"NO!" The heavens ring with our cries.

"Are we going to just hand them our lands on a platter, along with our lives, our families, and out freedom?"

"NO!" The earth shakes.

"Well, then- LET'S SHOW THEM WHAT WE CAN DO!"

We shout at them until our throats light on fire; we stomp our feet, and beat our weapons against our armour, and scream until we see the Sith actually falter, and some nearly turn back, wanting to crawl back into whatever murglack's nest they call home. It gives us pride to know that we see fear in their eyes. They know that any one of us is more than a match for ten of them, and so they approach us with fear. Yes… Yes… Fear is our ally this day. Once they come within a few hundred meters, we charge.

"FOR THE REPUBLIC!"

_**O**_ur weapons are raised in defiance as we collide with them head-on, engulfing ourselves in their ranks, clearing large swaths out of them as we fight forward, ever forward. I feel the rush of battle washing over me as I cleave the first kill's head evenly in two with a brutal hack, which he barely registers is coming at him before he falls. In quick succession, I embed my vibrosword in another Sith Soldier's chest and kick him back, releasing the sword and letting it fall with him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a Sith thug barreling toward me, holding a thick quarterstaff like a battering ram in front of him as he fights his way through the rabble of chaos between us. With my vibrosword lost in the last man's corpse, I am forced to improvise. Seizing a flailing Sith's head in both hands, I force it at an angle it is not supposed to go, and it snaps like a twig. In his hand, he holds a curved long-sword, which I liberate from its previous owner's grasp. He won't need it anymore, in any case.

"Borrow this? Thanks," I ask the falling corpse and wrest the hilt out of his grasp. The staff-bearing man is less than three paces away, the head barely a hand's-breadth. Slapping aside the staff with one hand, I bring the long-sword around and blindly thrust it at the charging man, and feel the satisfying screech-and-squish of a weapon traveling through inadequately-constructed plastoid armour, finding its mark and, letting go of the cumbersome tool, I reach over and retrieve my vibrosword out of the dead Sith behind me.

I can feel the might of the few surviving Jedi's battle-meditation descending on us, guiding our weapons, fuelling our strength. Fate does not abandon us in our time of need. The HUD timer seems to quicken, counting down the minutes we have left to need to defend the Pass, and it soon reaches two minutes left.

"We've got the hyperdrive fixed, sir." The report brings renewed vigour into my body. "We need one more minute to make sure that it checks out with the rest of the system."

"You got it- we can do this all day!" I actually laugh when I say it.

My blade had snapped in two long ago, but that did not stop me. Whether it be unarmed, pulling the Sith apart with my bare hands or with some of the many weapons strewn across the battlefield, the Sith continued to fall beneath me. I leap clear over the head of a lunging Sith, and while I soar above him, I fire four quick shots to his exposed back from a massive blaster carbine I had 'liberated' from a certain Sith Captain who conveniently fell dead from a slit throat just before he gave the weapon to me. As I land on the ground, another Sith tries to test his strength with me, and he receives a shot from point-blank range before he can come within even a meter.

"Got it! We're clear to go, sir!" In the background I hear the smugglers' ship's engines powering up.

"Then go. May the Force be with you." Our task is finally complete.

"More like smuggler's luck, but thanks, anyway. You're a true hero."

"Don't I know it."

Closing the channel again, I open communications with Draxx, our demolitions master. "Draxx- you there?"

"Loud and clear, sir."

"Let's blow this dump. Start the countdown."

"Yes, sir." I close the Comm channel, after saying goodbye to him.

And now, as I fight to the death out here in the farthest reaches of the Outer Rim, I have one last call to make.

"_**Y**_es?" The voice of my wife brings tears to my eyes, and I can hear the cooing of our baby boy, Raelin, behind it.

"Daeny? It's Aris." I rip the head clear off the assault droid.

"Oh, Aris! What are you doing? How are you?"

"Hon, I'm not going to make it. I just want to talk, for the last time. Talk about anything."

"No! Don't do this! Isn't there anything you can do?"

"If there was anything-_anything_- that I could do, I would do it- I can't. This is the only way you can be safe. A band of smugglers will be by in about three hours to pick you up- the leader's name is Daneel- trust them, and they will get you to Coruscant. Find my parents, and tell them what has happened- they'll take care of you." After a ferocious right hook and knee to the groin, I ram my current weapon- a stun pike- into the Sith's weak shoulder mesh armour.

"Aris- you have to be here. I can't go on if you're not here."

"Yes, you can. You _have_ to. You have to take care of Raelin and Jenna for me. Do is for me- don't give up!"

The countdown has reached a minute thirty seconds.

"I've only got a minute left- I just want you to know that I love you. I love you so much- never doubt that. This is for you. Give the children a big hug and kiss from me, and tell them I love them, too. Don't give up- You'll be ok. Everything will be ok."

_Four…_

"I love you…"

_Three…_

"…so much."

_Two…_

"Tell me you love me!"

_One…_

"I love you with all my heart." Daeny's voice is wracked with sorrow; I can hear it thick as amber, but I can also hear the resolve behind it- she will go on..

_Eternity._

The final message Draxx has put on the countdown for us all is the greatest anyone could ask for. Eternity. It is where we are going. Eternal glory, eternal life, eternal peace.

I see the explosion detonate the natural bridge, the explosion that will send me to the Force forevermore. And what's more: I let it. I have done my duty and more; I have nothing to fear or be ashamed of- I am going out with a soldier's death, with the one I love most in the universe at the other end of my comlink. No one could ask for a better death. I take a deep breath, and a wave of calm sweeps over me. This is what my entire life has been leading up to: Eternity. The battle is not lost- the Sith all face the same fate as we do- we, in the end, have won.

As I start to fall, I see the irregular shape of the Smuggler's ship, the _Crescent Sun_, rise up from behind the mountains, and blast off into the atmosphere, and into space beyond, carrying with it the hope for my wife and children, for this sector, and for the Republic. _We won._

I feel the impact with the sea, and then…

And then…

And the rest…

Is silence…

_Education never ends. Life is one long lesson with the greatest for last._

_-Sherlock Holmes_

_**Epilogue…**_

_**O**_n the small Outer Rim world of Desaana, the Sith advances have been dealt a crippling blow. Their soldiers have all been slain in one fatal explosion that sent them all plummeting into the ocean; the Republic Forces responsible have been acknowledged as heroes by the Galactic Republic, and the Jedi have erected a monument to their honour in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, which is even now being rebuilt to its former glory. Atop the monument stands a bronze statue of Commander Valendar Kaalber, the leader of that final stand. Daeny Alindan, the wife of one of the Captains of the resistance on Desaana, has rebuilt her own life as well, and her children are growing in the image of their great father.

On the planet, hundreds of feet below the crags of the towering cliffs above the sea, piles of rubble lie piled in and atop the ocean, littered with the dead. One corpse, a Jedi bearing a Republic Commander's armour, lies at the very top of the rubble, at its highest peak. His armaments are covered in gore, and his own blood is mixed with that of his enemies; his Heads-Up-Display still flickers behind the T-shaped visor, showing his vitality levels, heart rate, and a sonar-based electronic layout of the immediate area.

In a single instant, the sonar layout begins to show signs of life, and one of the Sith soldiers starts to stir, scraping one arm up and into a position to raise himself up. He has just got to a sitting perch on the rock slab he has been occupying when a single bolt of emerald energy flings itself through its face and he topples into the beating surf twenty feet below, the lightsaber that took his life flying back to its owner's outstretched hand. The Jedi twitches and slowly gets to his feet, his sonar scanners picking up no traces of life in the vicinity. He leans his head to one side until his neck cracks loudly, and then shakes himself.

"Well, that was a hell of a thing." He walks on, climbs the face of the cliff, and continues on into a new life. He has much to do.

**The End.**


	4. Part 3: The Consular Chapter 1

**Morpheus Rising: Part One: Insertion Point**

_Three years later..._

"They're not paying me enough." The Mandalorian grinned as he plummeted down toward the planet's surface, waiting for just the right instant to pull his chute. Timing was his life out here,g was his life outt ; one false move and he'd end up a charred blob of goo on the face of some barren rock or other.

Good thing timing was one of the very few things he had.

_Six hours earlier..._

"Men, you better hope you're not acrophobic, 'cause if you are, then that's just too bad." Darth Morden's tactician, Draxelan Vas, was an interesting character at best. At worst, he was a complete and total son of a—

"Wake up, Mando!" The Mandalorian opened one eye and sat up somewhat straighter when he was addressed. "Your task is a simple insert, blow up, and get the hell out of there, but we expect maximum resistance, so you, sleepyhead," he motioned toward the Mandalorian, "have got your work cut out for you. Hope you're ready for it."

The Mandalorian scoffed in mock outrage. "I'm insulted you even thought I was anything less."

Draxelan nodded, as close to a smile as he ever gave, and continued. "Anyway, the rest of you will handle the details- slicing, demolitions, sniping, and the like while our friend here keeps your sorry hides intact. That is all." He stood at ease, with his hands clasped behind his back. "Your necessary equipment is in the next room, and all the details are in your HUD. I've got Klaxon on comm channel six ready to talk you through the mission as you go. Good luck, and come back in one piece, preferably- I don't want to have to file all the paperwork if one of you gets blown up. Well, what are you waiting for? Get lost. Don't ask questions- your HUD will explain it all. Come on, soldiers, move it!"

_Three hours earlier..._

Klaxon's gaunt form was cast into shadow by the lights of the control panels lining the walls of the communications room, while he held his hands tense at his sides. "Your next deployment takes you to a planet in the farthest reaches of the Outer Rim called Berl. This planet is a deathtrap. It's got built-in defenses and everything, and we can't risk a drop-ship, so we're going to have to perform a little operation called _Living Airstrike_. All that means is that we're going to have to push you out of the ship- no, I'm not kidding. The planet has a worldwide sensor array that will detect anything bigger than an average Jawa, and a ship would be shot down in a second, but we've got a way out of this- an average human is not as likely to be hit as a full-size troop carrier, so we're sending in a minimal number of people in to get the job done, and to get it done quickly."

"And no doubt Morden thought us to be the best option?" Theera smirked.

Klaxon smiled ruefully. "No, actually. He told me personally that you were the most replaceable bunch- that's why he chose you." The Mandalorian made a mental note to pull Morden's head apart at his earliest convenience. "Anyway, the planetary sensors cover the entirety of the atmosphere, except for an expanse of about twenty meters at the very edge, so we have to send the drop-ship on to continue its course, and you'll have to jump out as soon as you reach the point of tangency with the atmosphere. This is, unfortunately, the only way you can complete your mission. All you have to do is get in there, blow up the planetary security mainframe, and get out before they shoot you. Any questions?"

Masqua asked, "You haven't exactly explained how we're getting out. Or is Morden going to leave us there after we're done our jobs?"

"Not at all. Once the security mainframe is busted, it'll be safe for the drop-ship to come down to the planet's surface and get you out. I'll be talking you through the mission as you go, so there's nothing to worry about. Anything else?"

"Why do we have to do this?" Theera's voice was laced with annoyance.

"Need-to-know. And, frankly, you don't need."

"And yet we have to risk our lives doing it? I don't think so. Spill it." Dengel drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair impatiently as he glared at the Zeltron impatiently.

Klaxon considered the objection for a moment, before: "In short, and abridged, it's a planet rich is Cortosis mines, and we need it more than the Republic does, so we're sending you in to make sure our way to the planet's surface is clear."

"Why are they so protective?" Masqua looked sceptical. "Or is that more military secrets?"

"Not at all." Klaxon grinned, revealing his crowded and crooked teeth, which were a sickly brown. "Their political leader has taken on the role of a dictator, and he got where he is now through Cortosis sales. He's used his vast wealth to up the security of the planet because of his paranoia that someone might try to take over the planet- he wasn't counting on the Empire taking an interest in his backwater planet."

"What level of destruction is acceptable here?" The Mandalorian leaned forward in his chair.

"Anything goes, but don't stick around to blow stuff up, or to rough up any females- time is of the essence here. Anything else?"

"Can we kill something already?"

_Three minutes ago..._

"We're nearing the drop zone now- get your preparations done, and you can finish your gossiping when you get back to base." The pilot of the smuggling ship, Jef Feran, glanced back to the cargo area of his ship to check on his charges as he let the autopilot carry the ship along the proper course, the very sight of the planet ahead stirring up a rush of adrenaline in the group of Sith affiliates.

Six there were; the four who formed Darth Morden's "Inner Circle"- The Mandalorian, Masqua Ren, Theera Delaine, Dengel Gengronn, and a new recruit, a Twi'lek named Qarten Mulrist, whom Morden had appointed the slicer-slash-demolitionist. Morden's own apprentice, Hael Quendin, had showed up in the hangar a few seconds before they boarded, and said he'd been appointed by Morden to make sure they did their jobs right, and none of them had dared to defy Morden's wishes- in the few months since Operation: Mind Heist, his apprentice had grown to be a terror to all who even dared to speak his name. Morden had been training him in excess, it seemed.

They were all outfitted with the best equipment the Empire had to offer for such a job, but the Mandalorian, however, had foregone it in favour of his _beskar'gam_- nothing could compare to the armour that was his home. Once a Mandalorian had donned his armour, he was one of his clan forever, and his armour was all he needed outside of his stomach's needs. It was his home, his best friend, and his greatest protection in the field of battle. The Mandalorian Armour had been designed, crafted, and worn only by him, and an old Mandalorian proverb said that "your armour reflects who you are, and in more ways than one, it _is_ who you are." It was right, of course, and the Mandalorian knew it, so he had acted accordingly. The Empire's armour was good, no doubt about that, but it was still referred to as a death-bucket, a sort of high-budget body bag- a Mandalorian's armour was his symbol of life, and of his and his family's honour. He sealed his helmet and set his mind to the task at hand.

He checked his ever-present leather satchel and the mini-grenades it held, as well as the ammunition packs attached to the strap; all were in order, as usual. His sniper rifle was loaded, with the safety off, and the hair trigger ready- he only needed a target.

_So let's go already!_

"You're clear to jump in six," Jef shouted. "Five. Four. Three. Two. One. _GO!_"

The bay doors slid open, and they launched themselves into the open air, and plummeted instantly toward the distant ground.

_Now..._

He knew that most people would have wet themselves by this point, but he was not most people. He had done things a hundred times more insane than this, and come out with only the remnants of an adrenaline rush to show for it, so jumping out of a ship into the edge of the atmosphere was not that much of a deal at this point.

He only wished the Empire had not taken that into account when they had decided his fee. He was a loyal employee, and would never back out of a deal, but in return, he had a base fee that must be met, and an all-expenses-covered requirement that was added to that at his benefactor's decision- the Empire, however, did not decide. He could not help but feel a touch of resentment at that.

He had not allowed the slugs at logistics to calibrate his HUD, but had instead done so himself, and designed an open-comm channel with their so-called "advisor", Klaxon, and had a separate one always open for communication with his ground based allies.

But he had still prepared some preventive measures, should the Empire attempt to leave him stranded on the planet- his ship, the _Carrion_, was waiting outside the atmosphere, latched to a stagnant asteroid field's main body and ready for deployment at his command. Everything was set and ready for action should the moment need it. The Mandalorian had surpassed practicality long ago.

The sound of the wind rushing past his helmet should have been deafening, but he had turned the volume intake down to a minimal, so he was not bothered in the slightest. As he free-fell, he turned his head to look at those around him, and he found a rather interesting assortment of emotions through the visors of his comrades. Dengel seemed to have been possessed by a massive attack of vertigo, and his mouth was wide open in what must have been a scream- the Mandalorian was glad he had chosen to silence his comm rather than subject his allies to his shrieks- while Masqua's determined expression betrayed no fear whatsoever. Theera had screwed her eyes shut, and he saw that her mask of calm and cold stone was nothing more than that- a mask. Qarten was too far away to make out his expression, though the Mandalorian noticed that he was considerably higher than the rest of the group, which meant that he must have hesitated for a moment or two; the Mandalorian could envision Jef pushing him out the bay doors, and he allowed himself a slight smile. Hael, however, was barely a few feet away from the Mandalorian, and he could see the Zabrak's expression, and part of him wished he couldn't. The Sith had a look of something between a devilish grin and a feral snarl, and he wasn't wearing the jumpsuit the others were, only his helmet, and the traditional robes of the Sith- he didn't even have a parachute. The Mandalorian looked away quickly, so as not to induce any trauma.

They freefell in absolute silence for a few more seconds before they entered the sensors' range, and the fireworks began. Obviously, they had underestimated the power of the sensors, though since they were already travelling at a massive velocity, the turrets and cannons missed them by dozens of meters. The Mandalorian had just begun to settle down again when the missiles were launched. They began as miniscule dots on the surface of the planet, but quickly grew into angular, black-tinted rockets trained on the invaders. They overshot the party on their first try, but then the missiles began to come around again, searching for their calibrated targets and closing in at a startling speed.

_I have to do everything. Right._ The Mandalorian flipped himself over so he was falling backwards, and retrieved his sniper rifle from its holster across his back, taking aim on the missiles.

"You! Mandalorian! Pull your chute!" Masqua's voice cut above the chatter from the others. "Any later, and it won't do any good for you if you shoot them or not."

"I can take it. You can't." He fired on his missile first, before moving on to the others. Missiles had one massive weak spot- the very end; the activation button at the very tip of the shaft was extremely sensitive, and if even a low-powered blaster bolt managed to come close to it, the whole thing would erupt prematurely. The Mandalorian's shots were few, but deadly accurate; the missiles gradually lessened in number, and after a full six seconds, there were no more threats in the skies, and he started to breathe easy again.

Until a ground-based turret tore a massive rent in Qarten's parachute.

The man's screams broadcast over the others comm channel, and he began to fall like a rock toward the planet's jungle terrain a few thousand feet below. _Damn it!_ The Mandalorian extended his left arm, wrist pointed at the man, and a liquid cable shot out toward him, snagging the remnants of Qarten's chute, just as the Mandalorian activated his own. There was a violent jerk, and he veered off course to the right, the weight of his new passenger dragging him off course at a dangerously high speed down to the trees.

The man's screams broadcast over the others' comm channels, and he began to fall like a rock toward the planet's jungle terrain thousands of meters below. _Damn it!_ The Mandalorian extended his left arm, wrist pointed at the man, and a liquid cable shot out at him, snagging the remains of his chute. There was a violent jerk, and he veered off course, the weight of his new passenger dragging his at a dangerously high speed down to the trees. The parachute could only hold so many pounds, and he knew that they must have exceeded that limit by a considerable margin; if something helpful didn't happen, fast, they would both end up dead, and the entire operation would be screwed. It was a sobering thought, at no mistake. He tried to think of a way out, but all options led to one or more extremely undesirable side-effect, and he was running out of time, and could already hear the fabric starting to tear from all the weight. Finally, with no options left, he did the only logical thing: He tossed the line to someone else. Theera caught the cord in both hands, and the Mandalorian was sure he heard a rather obscene swear word come out of her mouth as the weight began to drag her down, as it had him.

But that was not the end of his plan. He fired another cable at the shredded parachute, and threw it over to Masqua, who plucked it from the air with an unearthly grace just before the snapping end broke whipped back, cutting a deep gash through both his glove and hand, though he did not flinch. One more cable, and the man was now a fraction of the weight he had been on one of them, with the rest distributed evenly among the others; the rest of the trip down was secured, unless one of them got hit. He prayed that wouldn't be the case.

They had angled for a clearing a couple of miles away from their target, but the group had veered far off course from Hael and Dengel, who had remained on the set course. It was not a great distance, barely more than half a kilometer, but that small amount of distance may have meant the doom of their operation.

Time was something they all needed desperately, but what no one seemed to have. The Mandalorian had a lot of time on his biological clock, but chronologically, it seemed to be ticking down at twice the speed with every new mission; he was early on in his forties, but already he had more grey hair than red.

They cut their chutes just above the tree level, and dropped down to the ground below, their armour cushioning the brunt of the impact before illuminating their first objective, and the direction, distance, and altitude at which it was situated. The Mandalorian's HUD remained mostly the same as before, but a small line of script appeared at the very top, describing in short what the Imperials were trying to tell him.

"All right, everyone- let's regroup and get moving. And keep a lookout for hostiles." Masqua strode ahead of the rest, unclipping his lightsaber and holding it, unactivated, at the ready. "Try to keep as silent as possible- we don't want to have the local wildlife opposed to our presence as well, or they'll act as beacons for the enemy. Move out."

While the others assumed stealth crouches, the Mandalorian strolled ahead, guided toward the others' position by the readouts on his HUD; he never trusted those satellite maps- they were always out-dated. Therefore, he had developed a kind of sonar/thermal emitter attached to his chest plate, which he used to make a highly-detailed map, consisting of a full, real-time 3D layout of every location he ever visited- for further reference, he kept them recorded on a microchip built in to his control pad on his forearm. He fancied himself a top-notch mechanic. Also, though it took up a full microchip every time, he recorded all the changes in the maps, such as the positions of the people nearby, resulting in a sort of holovid-style video of the entire mission in case his employer wanted to ensure the job had been done.

He saw a couple of the local animals lumbering through the underbrush, to the North and Southwest, the latter being directly in the direction they were going. They looked like some form of bear, however, with an extremely high crown of featherlike protrusions, at least a hand-breadth thick. He wondered what colour they were. Their movements were irregular, its head bobbing and swaying with its movements as it made its slow way through the forest. He could see the outlines of Hael and Dengel in the clearing, facing each other and talking animatedly; he wondered if they were screaming at each other- that would be a first.

They skirted around the creatures, making less noise than the Mandalorian had expected. They made slow progress, while the enemy was undoubtedly gathering their forces to attack them at any minute- he was getting restless already by the time they reached their allies, to find them, as he had predicted, screaming.

Their comms were only open to each other, so the Mandalorian could not hear the exchange, but he could guess at its contents, and from the colourful hand gestures, they must have been quite the duo. There should have been a holoshow about this fight.

The argument continued for a few moments, and the Mandalorian saw, to his surprise and mild horror, that somehow Dengel had lost his right hand, and from the fact that there was no blood around the wound, he surmised that it was taken off by an energy weapon. After a few more seconds, while Hael, Theera, Qarten and he watched Hael and Dengel scream, Hael turned on his heel and stalked off, while Dengel stayed rooted to the ground. Suddenly, the stagnant one's remaining hand twitched, and his lightsaber leapt into it, blade activated.

Of course Masqua had to have waited until that precise instant to intervene. He reached out his hand, talon-like fingers pointed toward the soon-to-be backstabber, and his target's lightsaber wrenched itself free of its owner's hand, twisting through the air to Masqua, who plucked it out, mid-swing, and clipped it to his belt, tossing Dengel a small hold-out blaster, a chiding look in his eyes.

"Save your animosity for after the mission- now, let's get moving."

"What happened to your hand?" Theera asked Dengel as they ran through the forest.

"Hael. my parachute got stuck in a tangle of vines, so he thinks the best thing to do it cut me out. Bloody moron. I'll kill him." He plunged the stump of his forearm into his pocket.

"But," the Mandalorian interrupted, "do yourself a favour and wait until after the mission's over."

As they ran through the thickening jungle, it became increasingly difficult to avoid the local wildlife. The planetary security alarms had gone off, and they could hear the while of the atmosphere-bound fighters as they zoomed over the canopy of the massive trees, no doubt scanning the ground for any signs of life other than the animals.

The gunfire began after the thirty-sixth minute of their being on the ground, and super-heated Tibanna gas emissions darted through the air, just over Dengel's head, burying themselves in the bark of the trees and dissipating as it travelled through the wood. At the first shot, the Mandalorian's sniper rifle was in his hand, and he had already fired twelve rounds into the forest ahead; he felt immense satisfaction when he heard a cry from the direction he had peppered with blaster fire. His footsteps sloshed through the dense swampy ground at the bottom of the trees as he and his comrades ducked into any cover they could find. Their progress was impeded by extremely thick underbrush covered with undoubtedly poisonous thorns as they scrambled along their way, firing at anything that moved. The Mandalorian wondered why they had not run out of ammunition yet, having riddled bot trees and hostiles- though considerably more of the former than the latter.

The woods only grew thicker the farther they went, and higher as the water level increased. Soon, they were pushing through thigh-deep waters infested with creatures they really didn't want to identify- though most of them had considerably long teeth, more than capable of penetrating a man's skull.

"Qarten," Masqua called back. "Exactly what species are the locals?" The question came via the chatter channel, but it was Klaxon who answered it over the objectives channel.

"The species are a type of quadruped, with an average height of eight feet. They are above normal intelligence, and are naturally paranoid- they're pretty much Neimoidians with four legs, only fifty times uglier."

"Can they do anything weird? Things no one else can, like fly or speak with their minds?" The Mandalorian asked while gunning down a bipedal insect-like creature from three feet away before kicking its head backwards and into the trunk of a tree.

"They are capable of short periods of flight, and their body liquids are highly acidic. Now get moving; you're slowing down! Or would you rather have me file a dissertation on them?"

"All right, let's go- and don't let any of them pee on you." Hael spun his lightsaber in intricate patterns as a group of horned insects converged on him, each about two feet tall, and all cut exactly into two equal parts by the measured blows of the Sith Apprentice. He kept a steady pace, walking forward through the forest toward their goal; the Mandalorian had to give him credit for his exterior shell of calm, while he knew that inside, his spirit verged on collapse. The Mandalorian didn't know the full details of Hael's conversion, but he had heard of him before that happened, and he sometimes did not believe that this husk of a man was the same from the stories, the same one who had saved an entire planet from a Sith invasion with no one to help except a group of farmers and miners gathered from three villages. This man could not even be sure of himself, of what he could do. He needed to spend a few years in a Mandalorian camp, then he'd know just how powerful he was; now, he shrunk away from tasks until his Master ordered him to undertake them, and always left the bigger chunks of work to others- it could be misinterpreted as laziness, but the Mandalorian knew better. And yet, Hael's face betrayed no emotion at all; it was simply blank.

The Mandalorian grabbed onto one of the little creature and held it up to his face, knowing that the visor would be enough to scare it out of its wits.

"Do you understand me?" he growled.

It screamed, nodding its head frantically.

"Tell your friends to leave us alone, or I'll gun you all down one by one. Got it?"

It nodded again, screeched out something in its native tongue, and the others turned tail and flew away, leaving the group alone in the forest. And then the gunfire began again.

_Never a dull moment._

They pressed on.

"Master Kaalber!" The Jedi barely looked up from his work. He had sensed the Berlian long before he opened the door, but had maintained maximum concentration on his work rather than deign to face the unsightly alien.

"Yes?" His hands flew across the keypad, and the screen in front of him flashed with different windows all popping up and shutting down on the screen in barely a second each, though he read all their contents in that time regardless.

"There's a bunch of hostiles making their way toward the planetary defense bunker!" The insect-like quadruped's pincers snapped in agitation and panic as Kaal sighed.

"And?" He finally looked up, with a bored and yet annoyed expression on his face.

"Can't you do something?"

"If they manage to get within five miles of the place, the auto-turrets will take them out, so why bother? I'm not your bloody guardian angel." He returned to his work.

"They're Sith."

"Why didn't you say so before?" He was already out the door, fastening his dignitary's cape to his red-and-silver armour and unclipping his lightsaber from his belt. "Which direction?"

"Just follow the sounds of destruction."

"That'll work."

He swept off down the hall, pausing only to pry apart a pair of Berlians trying to suck each other's lips off. "That's better left for a time when we're not under siege," was his only explanation.

"There's a Jedi here." Hael's senses caught a whiff of some kind of abhorrent light coming from the area of the bunker.

"No! Really?" Masqua grabbed hold of a Berlian's wrist as it brought a heavy battle-axe down on him, twisting it in a direction it was not supposed to go, until it snapped, and the weapon fell, blade-first, onto the alien's chest.

"What should we do?" Dengel struggled with the clumsy hold-out blaster as a trio of locals charged him.

"Super powerful or not, stick a blaster up their nose, they die like anything else." The Mandalorian poured a stream of blaster fire into the oncoming waves before they could get close.

"Thanks for that mental image," Qarten called from somewhere behind. "Now get this thing off me!"

The Mandalorian turned and saw a Berlian wrestling Qarten to the ground, trying to stick a knife between the Duros' eyes. The threat was dispelled with a single shot to the back of the quadruped's neck, shattering its spine.

"Thanks."

The Mando fixed Qarten with a withering stare from behind his mask. "Gratitude is wasted on me. Return the favour, or forget about it."

Now that the current wave of Berlian defenders had been quelled, they were able to pick up their pace a bit, praying for a few moments' reprieve. Of course it never came.

"Multiple hostiles inbound." Masqua checked his radar and dove aside just as a colossal projectile burst through the air toward him, detonating against the side of a nearby tree and bringing it toppling down against one of the other innumerable trees in the forest, causing a domino effect leaving a large swath of the green-tinted sky visible through the canopy above. When a squad of atmospheric fighters entered the forest through the newly-carved groove, their problems quadrupled.

"Oh, frak." The Mandalorian fired off a shot at the lead, but it glanced harmlessly off the fighter's shields, ricocheting into a crop of vines.

"Get behind something!" Dengel ducked under a thicket of bulky vines, and the others followed suit.

"There's not much manoeuvering room in here- if we get them to fly around a bit, maybe we could thin out their numbers." Qarten's plan seemed sound, so the Mandalorian nodded and dove out from behind his cover, running in the direction of the ships. He silently berated himself for not opting for a jetpack attachment on his armour; that would have been helpful here.

As he had foreseen, the ships opened fire on him, peppering the ground around him with holes the size of his head as he ducked and weaved through the undergrowth toward them. "I could use some help here!" He screamed into the chatter channel, and he was pleased to see a reaction as Masqua leapt three hundred feet horizontally, and two hundred vertically, colliding with the first ship and plunging his lightsaber into the cockpit. The Mandalorian kept running, and the fight passed beyond his peripheral vision as he leapt into a tree, the folding blades on his gauntlets opening up and acting as climbing apparatus as he pulled himself up its length. He could tell that these ships were incapable of hovering, and had to be constantly moving in order to stay in the air, so his grand scheme was to get one of them to notice him, aim for the tree, and accidentally hit it. It was a ridiculously long shot, but everything else that came to mind was equally risky, so this was as good as anything.

Until they started dropping bombs on the ground.

He was already several hundred feet in the air when the rocking started, and the tree swayed so sharply that his grip began to loosen on the trunk, the blades slipping out of the holes. When the second and third bombs came down, he fell. Screaming was beneath him, but so was the ground, though the latter was coming close really quickly, and may end up above him pretty soon. Just before impact, there was a loud shout, and his fall was broken by an invisible cushion he knew could only be the Force, and a second later he hit the ground much softer than he would have before.

"You're welcome." Hael's voice came over the comm unit. "Now let's keep moving, or we're gonna get shot down really soon."

It was a good plan.

Theera was standing a little ways ahead, and as she turned back in the direction of the Bunker, the Mandalorian heard the _snap-hiss!_ of a lightsaber, and a green shaft of pure energy sprouted from her back, and she fell to the ground, revealing the Jedi behind her.

"Good morning, star shine," he heard an unfamiliar voice over the comm, which he could only assume was the Jedi's. "The earth says 'hello'."

_To be continued..._


End file.
